


Quietus

by titansatemysoul



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: End Game Spoilers, Ignis POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:12:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titansatemysoul/pseuds/titansatemysoul
Summary: While Noctis purges the world of the Starscourge, his comrades are left with the aftermath of his sacrifice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Caution: Major end game spoilers!**

The night before they return to Insomnia, Ignis hears Noctis sneak away as he clears the plates from dinner. He lets him go, continues his task until Prompto mentions that he’s sitting at the edge of their haven, staring out into the darkness.

He doesn’t question when Ignis holds out the plates for him to take, only gently turns him in the right direction.

“Noctis?” Ignis tries, and he’s met with a soft reply, steps forward until there’s a hand on his wrist, supporting him as Ignis finds a place beside him. His feet hang off the plateau of safety, one leg brushing against the man beside him. They sit quietly, Gladio and Prompto talking behind them, enough distance between them to allow for privacy. After a while, Noctis speaks.

“I’m not scared. I mean, after all that time when I was in the Crystal, it’d be kind of crazy if I was, right? My father, Luna, you, Gladio and Prompto…you gave up everything, all to make sure that I got to this moment, so that I could end this, so that the world can find peace.”

There’s a hand on his, and Ignis turns his palm up, interlocking their fingers, memorizing the warmth, what it feels like to be intertwined.

“When the time comes, I’ll face this like the man my father hoped I’d become. I want him to know that I’ve done what he’s asked, even if it took a while for me to catch up. Back straight, eyes forward, no excuses,” Noctis gives a small chuckle, but his voice is thick, laced with sorrow. “Just like you taught me, right Iggy?”

Ignis can’t bring himself to respond, can only squeeze the hand he holds, and receive the pressure that’s instantly returned.

“I won’t turn my back when I can save the people I love, my country. I’ll do what I have to I just,” Noctis pauses, the quiver of his body almost imperceptible, were it not for Ignis’ acute sense of touch.

“I just wish I didn’t have to die,” Noctis’ voice cracks, the way it did when they were young, when he laughed too hard or talked too loud. He’s turning into Ignis, the heat of his tears burning through his shirt as Noctis buries his face in his neck. He clutches Ignis like a frightened child, the way he did when he’d wake with nightmares of the daemon Marilis or the fires of Fenestala Palace. Ignis holds him, just the same, carding a soothing hand through his hair and letting him cry.

This time however, Ignis can’t tell him everything will be alright.

He would never lie to his King.

-

“Prompto.”

“Gladio.”

There’s a pause, silence but for the rain falling around them, hitting the stone at his feet, the tears Ignis refuses to shed.

“Ignis.”

“I leave it to you.”

_“Walk tall…my friends.”_

Words that will always fall short and endless final caresses are left in the cramped bunks in the old subways of Insomnia, Gladio and Prompto sleeping with their backs turned away. Ignis wants to brand the contours of Noctis’ face onto his hands and into his mind, the roughness of his stubble, the texture of his skin and the soft pillows of his lips.

He would never be fully prepared, but it’s only in these final moments that he thinks of all the things he could have said, and now, will never have the chance. The words he chooses aren’t nearly enough, but he can’t risk a break in his composure to say anything else.

“Godspeed…and take care.”

_Noctis._

From the day they met as children, they’ve been together, even here, standing far apart and robbed of one last glance. Their memories will outlast them both, cemented in the history of the world they’ve aimed to create.

Ignis doesn’t have to see to know that his brothers beside him have their hands to their heart, just as he, loyal to their last breath.

He hears footsteps, and knows that Noctis is ascending the staircase, and for the first time in years, Ignis laments for his sight, if only to watch his retreating back.

The harsh drone of daemonic energy rumbles beneath their feet, the terrible groans of beasts emerging at their back. Gladio summons his weapon with the familiar crackling sound of Lucian magic, and Prompto his. Ignis stands frozen, staring, unseeing, at the empty space where Noctis should be.

He’s promised Noctis that he’ll live to see the first light, and it’s one he intends to keep.

Ignis turns.

-

The battle is hard fought, but no one wants to stay and bask in the victory, not even to take a breath. No sooner has the last daemon fallen, are they running up the stairs, Gladio bursting through the doors of the Citadel like he means to break them.

“Damn,” he curses under his breath, still breathing heavy. “Elevators dead, take the stairs.”

Ten years have done nothing to dull his memory, and Ignis doesn’t miss a step, the layout of the Citadel ingrained in his memory. He doesn’t feel the burning in his legs, or the multiple cuts and bruises he’s sustained in during the fight.

In the hall leading to the King’s chambers, the tension becomes palpable among them, suffocating, like smoke. Ignis has his hands on the door, but finds his strength taken from his body, whether from true exertion, or his mind’s pathetic attempt to protect him from what’s on the other side, he doesn’t know.

It’s more like a fall, the weight of his body pushing through the entrance. The air is thick with the dampness left by rainfall, which must have poured in from the gaping hole in the wall and ceiling.

A ringing in his ears leaves Ignis detached, scarcely able to hear the choked sound that Prompto makes beside him, or the sharp exhale from Gladio.

His feet carry him forward without his permission, stumbling over debris, breaking into a run, hands clumsily pushing off the steps up to the throne. One of them is calling his name, he doesn’t know which, but Ignis doesn’t care as he finds flat ground, having reached the top.

Noctis is here. Though he see's only darkness, he can sense him, a fading energy that emanates off his body.

Ignis takes careful steps, each one cutting through the beating of his heart that thrums inside his head. A hand finds the arm of the throne, thick stone and crisscrossed embossing, and Ignis runs his hand down, painfully slow, until…

The fabric of his sleeves is rough, fine fabric caked with dirt, wrinkled beyond repair. Ignis barely notices, numb to the impact of his knees crashing onto the stone floor, as his fingers meet Noctis’ skin.

It’s not cold like he thought it might be, but not warm, no pulse of the vein in his wrist, or familiar curl of his fingers anytime Ignis would touch him. He encircles his hand with both of his own, rubbing his thumb on the back, like he’d do when Noctis was being stubborn, refusing to wake up as he so often did.

In his search for the man, he’s met the blade, Sword of the Father. Ignis can feel the intricate filigree leading up to the hilt, visualizing it in his mind, held steady in the hand of the former King, Noctis by his side.

After a moment, he continues his path, until soft locks find his fingertips. Noctis is slumped over, hair falling in a halo around his face, and Ignis twists it between his fingers, pushing it off his forehead like he’s done thousands of times before. He forces himself to stand, to lift Noctis’ head, righting him until it rests against the back of his throne.

Ignis caresses the side of Noctis’ face, cupping it in his palm, tracing the line of his cheek bone. He works his way down, over the straight line of his nose, the dip of his philtrum…his lips. They’re dry, mouth closed in a soft line as Ignis runs his finger from corner to corner.

He doesn’t want to reach up, to bring his palm down over his eyes, gently close them for the last time, but he does.

Ignis has no sense of time, no idea that he’s collapsed again, nearly cutting himself on the blade that juts out of Noctis’ chest as he falls to his lap, burying his head in his thigh, wrapping his arms around his waist as much as he’s able.

The world around them ceases to exist, not even when Gladio and Prompto join him on the platform. It’s only when he feels Prompto’s hand on his shoulder does he realize that they’re there.

“Ignis, its time.”

Ignis just stares in his direction, not understanding the words.

“We have to move him,” Prompto says, obviously choking back sobs. “We aren’t going to leave him here. You don’t want that, right?”

“I’m not going to be able to get this out,” Gladio croaks above them. “It’s…it’s gone clean through the stone.”

“Okay,” Prompto says. “I’ll help you, I’m sure we can do it.”

Prompto’s hand is gone, and Ignis can hear them positioning themselves to pull.

“Wait.”

Ignis gathers himself, shaky legs carrying him to his feet.

“I should hold him.”

Resting Noctis’ shoulders in the cradle of his arm, the other at his back, Ignis holds him steady.

In silent synchronous, they wrench the sword from the stone. It falls with a booming clatter to the ground in front of them, cutting through the silence, and Ignis’ braces himself as Noctis slumps forward in his arms.

It’s only then that it happens, a cry that Ignis doesn’t recognize as is own, even as it stings his vocal chords as it erupts from his mouth, and Prompto is behind him, keeping them both from falling as sobs wrack his body. Noctis’ head is on his shoulder in the crook of his neck, and Ignis does the same, tears staining the fabric of Noctis’ collar, clutching him with summoned strength he doesn’t have.

Another pair of arms are beside him, and Prompto has to physically remove Ignis from the body as Gladio lifts Noctis from his throne.

“Come on,” Prompto says quietly, an arm at his waist, another securing Ignis’ arm over his shoulders as he leads him down the steps. “You don’t have to worry Ignis, he’s right in front of us.”

It’s the only reason that Ignis allows himself to be led out of the Throne Room, through the halls, back down the winding steps and through the entry way. It’s slow going, both Prompto and Gladio struggling with the dead weight in their arms.

As they step out onto the stairway back down to the street, Ignis can sense it.

The sun has begun to crest over the horizon.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _quietus;_ death or something that causes death, regarded as a release from life.
> 
> Tears were shed.
> 
> (thank you to Heich for reading this over and listening to my endless complaining)


End file.
